“I know you didn’t, but it’s a big deal. You’re a big deal, Audrey Lee. Don’t forget that. No matter what happens in the next few days, you’ve made history here. Your life will be a whirlwind for the next few months, but when things calm a little, if working with the USOF is something you’d be interested in, please reach out.”
“But Emma or Dani—”
“Both have plans to compete in the next quad,” she finishes for me.
I’m out of excuses.
“I’ll think about it.”
She lifts one perfectly shaped and filled-in eyebrow. “Excellent.”
We can’t watch Chelsea compete on vault because as soon as they’re finished we have to march straight out for bars. I can listen to the crowd, though, and hear the announcer call the competitors’ names.
Chelsea qualified first, so she’ll go last.
The minutes tick by as I run through my bars routine in quarters and then halves, rotating with Emma. The crowd has been groaning and cheering as gymnasts have fallen or hit, and then finally …
“Now vaulting, for the United States of America, Chelsea Cameron!”
The arena falls to a silent hush before giving way to feet pounding down the runway. I close my eyes, picturing her hitting the springboard and then the vault, wrapping herself in tightly for the two and a half twists, and—bam—sticking it!
The crowd explodes, and the noise ricochets into the concrete tunnel where we wait.
One down. One to go.
Whatever her score is, it must be good, because the thunder-sticks are pounding, matched only by the roar from the crowd, before the announcer calls out again. “And now the second vault from Chelsea Cameron.”
Her Rudi is almost as good as her Amanar, and I close my eyes again, waiting for the sound of a vault and then the crowd’s reaction.
She’s running, and I can see it in my head, left, right, left, right down to the vault, full speed off the board, hands first to the vault with athwap, and then it squeaks in protest, taking her weight and sending her flying into the air, one and a half twists, the motion trying to force her body out of the straight line, but her training allows her to hold before she lands with athwack.
A wave of thundersticks bouncing together and cheers follow.
That’s gotta be a hit.
But what does it mean?
It’s an agonizing few minutes of uncertainty.
“And the final standings in the vault final,” the announcer says. “In third, Lou Ting from the People’s Republic of China. In second, representing the Russian Federation, Erika Sheludenko …”
“She won,” I say, and Emma nods.
“… and in first place, from the United States of America, Chelsea Cameron. Ladies and gentlemen, please join us in celebrating our Olympic medalists.”
We keep training, trying to stay warm as the frigid air pumps into the gym, just as it has all week. Quarter, half, and then full routines, over and over again. Critiquing each other as we go, just like we have since we were little kids.
Emma lands her final warm-up routine and looks to me for a correction, but I shake my head. “I’m really glad you’re still here, Em.”
She quirks a grin at me. “Yeah, me too. Now, you’re up.”
The sounds from medal ceremony travel back into the training gym, and I swing through my bars routine one more time with “The Star-Spangled Banner” rattling in my ears.
Maybe, not too long from now, it’ll be playing for me.
“Okay, girls,” Janet says, coming in from the arena, where the medal ceremony is wrapping up. “I trust you’re ready to go?”
Emma looks to me, and together we nod.
